Taking A Whack At It
by M. K. Slade
Summary: Hermione wants to prove that she is more than just book smart. So, she decides to get in shape over the summer, hoping to discover that she is secretly athletic. Minor RonHermione fluff.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. It's all Mrs. Rowling's.

Written in Hermione's point of view.

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I've never been used to failure. That is, I'd never actually experienced it before. Everyone has always known me as the smart girl, the one who knows everything, can do anything, is capable of anything. People have called me modest, but I just have never been overly confident with myself. I've always accepted people's praise because it's just been something that was given to me.

School has always been easy. I either knew something already, or I taught it to myself. Things like math came naturally when I was in Muggle schools and when I came to Hogwarts I worked hard every night to learn the syllabus and usually even more. Knowledge just absorbed right into my brain, and it was just how I was.

A perfectionist. A Goody-Two-Shoes. A nerd, a geek. A straight-A student. I've heard people call me these things time and time again, whether they wanted me to hear them or not. I was labeled with names intended to be insults, but I had taken them as compliments. I could go on with the lists of tags that I've been given, but I won't.

The one thing no one has ever called me is an athlete.

It's not even as though I'm not in shape. I always have been. I'll admit that I have a naturally high metabolism, and that keeps me thin, but I've kept in shape. More than some people at least. I used to walk sometimes with my parents and when I was little I used to play sports. Not actual organized leagues, but I would kick a ball around with some of my friends.

But I've never been like Harry or Ron. Well, I suppose I shouldn't use them as examples, their high levels of testosterone make them competitive. I have never been like Ginny. Passionate about sports. It just never…came to me. My only passion was to sit warm and cuddled up with a hot chocolate and read. I'd pretend I was the heroine in the books, where Prince Charming would sweep me off my feet, or I would make someone else's life worthwhile. But that's a whole other story. My point is, I have never had a desire to run around and kick a ball, or in Ginny's case, fly around and throw one.

Yet, knowing this, every year when I stay at the Burrow, the Weasleys and Harry always ask me if I want to join their game. And I always politely decline and either go inside and read or stay outside and read. But I never really do. Read, that is. I pretend like I am when I really just stare out the window and watch them or peek from behind my book if I'm sitting outside. Quidditch really isn't such a terrible sport to watch. It's actually rather entertaining when you know the people playing it.

So the summer going into my seventh year, I decided I would give it a try. Why not? I'd give the boys and Ginny a shock, and maybe discover that I wasn't such a terrible athlete after all.

I knew from seeing Harry, Ron and Ginny exhausted after their practices that playing Quidditch required one to be in shape. So I started running around my neighborhood in the beginning of the summer. At first, it was a light jog and I couldn't make it very far without feeling dizzy and getting a sharp, heavy pain in my chest. I tired easily and when I came home, but I realized that I slept much better. I also realized that running to get into shape…hurts. I felt pain in muscles I hadn't even known existed. My quads burned, I practically pulled my groin and I could barely walk up stairs. Forget walking down them, carrying a hippogriff would be an easier feat than that.

But I kept at it. I'd tried running many times in the past, but I found that it was too hard and I had given up. When my parents saw the pain I was in they said that it was wonderful that I tried but "some people are just made to excel at different aspects in life." They fancied me a quitter and I did not like it. Their doubt only forced me to work harder, with more perseverance. I knew I had to prove them and everyone else wrong.

Eventually, my lungs became used to the exercise. The pain was assuaged when I ran and now I had more speed and could run two miles and back by the middle of the summer. I even practiced throwing a big ball through a hula-hoop in my back yard. I was proud of myself, more proud than I had ever been. This was a bigger deal to me than getting an O in Ancient Runes. I'd overcome an obstacle I had never thought possible.

I had just come home from a five-mile run and was preparing to go into the shower, when I noticed a small bird fluttering outside my bedroom window. Upon closer inspection, I recognized the bird as Ron's owl, Pig, and opened the latch. He flew into the room and allowed me to take the small piece of parchment off of his leg, then landed on my desk where my schoolbooks and already finished work was stacked neatly. I opened my trunk and gave him one of the owl treats I had bought just for this reason and proceeded to open Ron's reply to my latest letter.

"Dear Hermione,

Glad to hear that your summer is going good as well. Although, I can't believe that you finished all your work already. I haven't even started Divination, and all we have to do is predict whether or not the direction of the sun when we wake up on a Tuesday morning relates to what animal we'll see that day. I haven't been able to do this, see, because I haven't woken up past noon all summer, let alone on a Tuesday. Not to mention, the closest thing to an animal that I've seen are those bloody garden gnomes.

Sorry about the cursing. I know you hate that and are probably shaking your head right now. (Hermione smiled at this point, for indeed, she was shaking her head in disapproval.)

Anyway, the reason I am actually replying to your last letter is because I figure that it's about time that I ask you to come stay at the Burrow. I know that you wanted to stay with your parents for a while over the summer, but I figure that it's about time that I at least asked you. Not to mention it's getting pretty boring without you here. And Harry, of course. But we're picking him up at the Dursleys tonight, so he'll be here if you decide to come.

Send Pig back with your answer,

Ron."

All the hard work and struggle I had gone through over the summer was finally worth it. It was nearly time for me test myself, to face a challenge I had never thought possible. The thought of it thrilled me. I sent back an affirmative to Ron's invitation, and spoke to my parents. I packed everything that night, eager for the trip to the Burrow that I would be taking in a few days time.

Not long after I had finally reached the Burrow, Ron, Harry, Ginny and I had finished catching up with one another, and Ron was beginning to look bored.

"Quidditch, anyone?" He asked, glancing around at everyone but me.

"Sure," Harry and Ginny replied, and went to get their broomsticks.

Ron stood up, and turned back around. "You don't want to play, right Hermione?" he asked.

I smirked to myself, small enough so that he wouldn't notice. "Actually, I think I'll take a whack at it." Ron looked as though I had sworn.

He was still wearing the same expression as Ginny, grinning, handed me one of the twins old Comets. I was somewhat apprehensive as I glanced at the broomstick, watching Harry and Ginny flying up into the air above the usual hill, where we were secluded enough not to be seen by Muggles. I hadn't flown since flying lessons with Madam Hooch in our first year. I was terrible then, and knew I wouldn't be much better, as I hadn't been able to practice at home, with Muggles all around. Following Ron up into the air, I was a bit shaky, but not as horrible as I had expected to be, though the others laughed at the speed I was going. I didn't care. All that mattered was that I was actually doing it.

I knew the basic rules of Quidditch after six years of watching Harry and the others attempt to win the House Cup. Victor had tried to describe the more complex rules to me, but truthfully, I hadn't been listening.

We began to play. I was paired up with Ron, with him as Keeper, and me as our solitary Chaser. Obviously we didn't have a Snitch, so we were playing that the first to score ten goals was the winner. Ginny was incredible. She flew marvelously and managed to get several goals past Ron. I, on the other hand, was more dreadful than I could have imagined. Tossing a ball through a hoop in the ground is an entirely different experience than throwing a Quaffle while flying. I didn't score once. I merely fumbled the large red ball, and most of the time Ginny caught it below me. I could hear the three of them snickering at me each time I made an attempt at a goal and at one point Harry yelled, "Wow, Herm! And I thought you were good at everything!"

I was getting extremely upset and could feel the sting of tears in my eyes threatening to fall. I was determined to prove that not only was I in shape, but that I could play Quidditch properly. My determination, however, made no difference. I showed no more skill or athleticism. I was still composed, however, until Ron murmured, "Hermione, why don't' you just go back to the Burrow and finish that book you were reading?"

That was when I lost it. Determined for him not to see my face, I flew down to the ground, stumbled off the broom, and leaving it on the hill, ran all the way back to the Weasley's house, and despite the fact that I was staying in Ginny's room, sprinted up the many flights of stairs and into Ron's room, where I threw myself onto his bed and sobbed.

All my hard work. Practically half of my summer had been wasted away for nothing. How stupid could I have been, thinking that running a few miles and throwing a small ball would have made any difference. I had made a fool of myself. And worst of all, Ron had been the one who had lost faith in me. Secretly, he had been the one I had wanted to impress the most. I had heard him talking to Harry in the common room one night, saying he was lucky to be dating Ginny, and that he would kill to be dating a girl who was interested in Quidditch. Of course, this hadn't been the reason I had so desperately wanted to play, but the thought of it didn't make me feel any better.

I don't know how long I lay there crying, but it was long enough for me to get over my humiliation and grief, and turn it into complete anger. I didn't need to be good at everything. Besides, Quidditch was a stupid sport. Who needs to be athletic anyway? Personally, I find it a bit more impressive to be able to quote Hogwarts, A History, than to be able to do a Sloth-Grip Roll or whatever it's called.

My tears had finally stopped when I heard Ron coming up the stairs. I could tell it was him from the way he stomped up each step and shuffled his feet on the landing. He opened his creaky door slowly.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, but I didn't reply. I felt his bed sag underneath his weight as he sat down next to my legs. "Hermione, I'm sorry. I didn't realize what I said would upset you so much."

"Well, it did," I murmured after a few seconds.

"I didn't realize you were even interested in Quidditch. If I had, I would have helped you, you know. "

I turned around to face him. "I'm not interested in Quidditch. At least, not in playing it. You three always seem to have so much fun when you play, and I love to watch you. So, I just thought that maybe I should give it a try."

"Well, you can't expect to be perfect at something your first try. Quidditch is really hard, Hermione, you have to be in really good physical shape--"

'"That's just it Ron, I am in shape. I've spent all summer getting ready for this, to prove that I can actually be athletic," my voice grew quiet. " I…I thought that I would be good."

Ron placed a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. "Hermione, you can't expect to be perfect at everything. Isn't it good enough that you're easily the smartest witch I know, one of the best friends any one could ask for, and the kind of beautiful that most guys can only dream about?"

His ears turned red at this last statement, but his eyes remained steady on mine. I, however, had to look away, for I could feel my face flushing darker than his hair.

"I'm just not used to failure," I admitted once I had regained my composure.

"Well, a little bit of failure never hurt anyone. Hell, it's what makes me the wonderful man I am today," he added with a smug grin. "And just remember, there's always going to be that group of people who will always love you just as you are."

I smiled at this unexpected kindness. "Thanks, Ron."

"No problem. Do you want to come give it another chance?" He asked, gesturing towards the window where Harry and Ginny were still flying around.

"No, thanks. I think I'll stick to what I'm good at," I said, holding up one of our schoolbooks. He grinned, rolled his eyes mockingly, and left the room.

I couldn't wipe the smile off my face after he'd gone, considering his comment 'the kind of beautiful that most guys can only dream about,' and realizing how much it had cheered me up. I couldn't help thinking that despite the fact that I may have failed at Quidditch, perhaps I wasn't doing so badly in a different area of my life.

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Fin.

Hope you enjoyed!


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